Vamped (21 page)

24

T
he media circus had only started with News Channel 9. By the time we were finished, three major networks had sent crews, and while they clearly thought we were nuts at first, they didn’t stop the cameras … not until we were done anyway.

And that’s when Sandra’s cameraman did a quick rewind to review the tape. He startled, his posture going ramrod straight and eyes about bugging out. Based on his reaction, a second cameraman quickly checked his tape while the first guy looked back and forth between us and the camera, as if that would solve the mystery.

“Vamps don’t show up in mirrors, or, I’m guessing on film,” I explained, hiding my disappointment. “Do you believe us now?”

Sandra stopped staring at us and circled behind the cameraman to see what he was seeing. I couldn’t help but notice it also conveniently put the cameraman between us and her, like a human shield. I took it back—she and I could never be shopping buddies. Now that I looked closely, those cool suits were nothing but really good knock-offs anyway, probably made in a sleazy sweatshop.

The first officer on the scene, megaphone man, said, “We’re going to need the commissioner.”

“At least,” muttered his partner.

“I’ve got to call this in,” megaphone cop said, to us this time, like he was asking permission.

Bobby gave him the royal nod, which almost gave me the giggles, but I wasn’t so giddy as to give in to them. What had seemed so clear when I ordered the barricade to come down was now all fuzzy. Would they let us stay together? After all, this technically wasn’t our place, unless there were any spoils-of-war laws on the books. Would they send us to our homes? Take us in for questioning? Would someone discover my misadventures at the mall? Was Trevor right in his paranoia that we’d be grabbed for some secret purpose, like creating the army’s own super soldiers? And for which government?

Bobby reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “I won’t let it happen.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, glad for a focus. “Are you reading my mind?”

“No, your body language. When you’re worried, your brows get a little crease right about … ” He put a finger to my forehead, right between my brows. “Here.” I gave a little squeak.

Everyone in the room looked at me.

“Wrinkles!” I explained.

They all went back to what they were doing, totally unsympathetic.

“Eternal youth, remember,” Bobby whispered. “It means never having to say you’re wrinkly.”

“Oh, thank God,” I whispered back. When no lightning bolt appeared to strike me down, I relaxed. If we
were
damned, we couldn’t be very high on God’s
To Smite
list. And for the moment, no one else was after us. Which brought me to another thought: it seemed to me like the skin-care industry should want us every bit as much as the government. I mean, everyone in the world was searching for the fountain of youth and we’d stumbled right onto it. We could make a fortune just selling skin samples. Or build an empire creating our own miracle cream.

“Let’s get shots of the rest of the house,” Sandra said, already bored and lulled into a sense of security even in the face of all the weirdness she’d seen so far. I only hoped the rest of the world adjusted so quickly.

“Crime scene!” megaphone man suddenly seemed to recall, and loudly at that. “You shouldn’t even be in here.” To his partner he added, “We’d better establish a perimeter before the commish arrives.”

“We’ll see you out,” I told Sandra, who didn’t look any too happy about it.

“We’ve got that,” megaphone cop said. “You two just stay put for the moment.”

I was half tempted to salute but was afraid of which finger I’d use. So I just nodded demurely, although it cost me.

At least once everyone was herded out, Bobby and I finally had a second of alone time.

“Guess everything’s changed,” I said, proving my mastery of the obvious. I thought back to the prophecy.
Change
and
chaos
. Yup, we’d certainly accomplished both.

Bobby took hold of my chin, lifted my face to his, and I drowned in those depthless blue eyes. “The world is constantly changing,” he said. “The best we can do is guide our own trajectory.”

It was such a Bobby thing to say that I smiled, weirdly feeling that all was right with the world, whatever tonight’s fallout was.

“Bobby, I l—” ooh, so close, “like you. No matter what, we’ve got it covered, right?”

As eternal declarations go it was pretty weak, but he seemed to understand, at least if the bone-liquifying, soul-searing kiss he gave me was any indication. I was ready to up and lock the door, if my legs would support me, so Bobby could continue that thought, but then an impossibly deep voice said from the doorway, “Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?”

We jumped away from each other like guilty teenagers. Which I guess we were, except for the “guilty” part.

Right there in the doorway was a man in a phat black suit—like midnight black, the best tailoring I’d ever seen. If he was armed, he kept his piece hidden and one hand casually in his right hip pocket. And, oh yeah, he wore his sunglasses at night.

“Holy crap,” Bobby said in hushed reverence. “The Men in Black. They really do exist.”

The man shut the door behind him, and I saw my dreams of freedom, fame, and fortune crash and burn. If some secret agent man really had come calling, he likely wasn’t here to offer us a life of leisure and luxury.

He stared each of us down for a moment, and it was freakish not to see myself reflected in his shades. I wondered if I’d ever get used to it.

“Here’s how it’s going to go,” he said, without preamble or even introduction. His voice was totally uninflected, like he was a prerecording. “My people are outside cleaning up the scene, sweeping it all under the rug. Your people are now our people.”

Great, I’d gained and lost an entourage all in one day. It had to be some kind of record.

“What do you mean,
our
people?” I placed my hands on my hips. “Who are you?”

“I promise you’ll find out soon enough. For now, you’re coming with us.”

“The hell we are,” Bobby said, looking poised to spring some new attack.

“I’m afraid I’m not asking.”

Bobby gathered himself like he was ready to fight for his freedom. I could feel the power gathering. Then the mystery man took his hand out of his pocket and let something fall to the end of its chain. Smelly Melli’s medallion gone supernova, burning like a white-hot sun. It suddenly occurred to me to wonder whether the watchers Rick had warned me about really
had
been the council. Or at least, whether they’d all been the council.

“You see, we know,” he said ominously. “Others will learn about your powers. We can’t let you fall into the wrong hands. You can work for your country or you can kiss your life … and your girl … good-bye. That’s all the choice you have.”

Bobby and I looked at each other. We’d crawled out of the dragon lady’s frying pan only to get burned up in the fire.

But, as always, my mind seemed determined to make lemonade. I put a hand on Bobby’s arm to keep him from doing anything foolish.

“Let me ask you one thing, Agent X. Does this gig come with a clothing allowance?”

The End.

Acknowledgments

There are so many people I want to thank that I don’t know where to start, so here they are in no particular order. I want to thank my wonderful agent, Kristin Nelson, for everything; Andrew Karre, the editor who first believed, for his insightful editing; and my new editors, Brian Farrey and Sandy Sullivan, for doing so right by my book.

I want to thank the Cross-Genre Abuse Group for abuse (of course) and encouragement; my husband and son, who will give me grief for not coming first, although they do, of course; my mother, who has always been my cheerleader; my father for photography expertise; my sister and the rest of my family for being weird and wacky in wonderful ways; the Red Hat Ladies of Wilderness Lake, who bought my first pseudonymous novel and are so fantabulous; Beth Dunne for loving Bobby and Gina and for contagious enthusiasm. I’d also like to give a shout out to the folks at the Igloo Café in Astoria, NY, which is a place of good writing, and the Tae Kwon Do studio in Queens where I did so many of my revisions while my son did his forms

About the Author

Lucienne Diver is a literary agent by day, a writer by night. (Hey, it’s still dark at 5:00 am.) Her credits include short stories and a romantic comedy written under the pseudonym Kit Daniels. With her young adult novel
Vamped
, Lucienne’s taking off the mask and stepping into the full glare of … indirect sunlight. ’Cause as her heroine would tell you, anything else is hazardous to your health, especially once you’ve been Vamped.